


Prison Cells

by stillgoldie1899



Category: Newsies (1992)
Genre: Comedy, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-07
Updated: 2013-01-07
Packaged: 2017-11-24 02:21:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/629236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stillgoldie1899/pseuds/stillgoldie1899
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The worst day of Jonathan's life. First he's fired, then he's thrown in jail on trumped up charges. And his cellmate? None other then Snyder. What could be worse? One shot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prison Cells

The first thing he learned about being in prison was that they weren't so keen on letting you keep all your...effects. Your clothing, alright, but not your watch or wallet, or gold-plate pen that your mother gave you when you first got a job as an assistant at the World.

The World. He'd thought it was the world, his home, where he belonged. Pulitzer had become like his father, very much like his father, yelling at him, making him nervous, making him run around, pinning all the blame on him.

Oh, god, the blame. It had all fallen onto him. His idea. His fault. The strike, the loss of profits, forcing Pulitzer to bow to a pack of filthy miscreants. All his fault. He'd failed. So completely, so utterly, that when he was informed that he was also being arrested on embezzlement charges, well. It was the final straw. His dignity was shattered beyond redemption. His heart broken. His...world gone.

Forced to sit on a disgusting bench, being leered at by policemen and other criminals, whose hands were so filthy they may as well plant gardens on them. It was the most humiliating, degrading experience of his life. And his life had been filled with humiliating, degrading experiences.

Once he'd been...processed? Was that was it was called? He'd been led off to a cell, and more or less dumped there, shackles removed, pushed into a dark room. He, of course, tripped and landed face first on a floor it was clear had last been cleaned when Lincoln was still in office. It was utterly disgusting. But before he could even really react, a voice cut through the dark.

"Don't I know you?"

Jonathan looked up, in a panic, scrambling to his feet. He wasn't alone in here?

"I...don't know, sir? Do you know me?"

A face surged from the dark, with an odd sort of sneer, framed by shadow, but not by hair. "I do know you. You're Pulitzer's whimpering little puppy dog. Jonathan, wasn't it?"

Jonathan straightened his back, scowling. "I am no one's puppy dog, -sir-. I was employed by Joseph Pulitzer as an assistant, but my services have recently been let go."

"Ah. So those little brats are why you're here as well, eh?"

Jonathan frowned. "Wait...I know -you-. You're that prison warden. Why are you here?"

"Child abuse. Fleecing the state of funds designed to feed and properly house said children. I believe someone even threw a charge of sexual assault in there as well, as a final nail in my coffin. Trumped charges, of course."

"O-oh. I see." Jonathan's eyes were slowly adjusting to the dark, and he saw there was a bunk across from the one the warden was sitting on. He hurried to sit on that one, on the other side of the cell from the other man, who was frightening him slightly.

"So we have a common enemy."

"We do?"

"Those boys. I intend to destroy them all. You should help me." The warden's eyes seemed to glow red. Or that might, perhaps be Jonathan's own nerves.

"I...should?"

"Yes, Jonathan. You're the kind of man who works best when taking orders, aren't you? I know your kind. And I'm the kind of man who works best when giving orders. So. You're going to work for me, while we're here. And you are going to help me solve my newsie problem. Is that clear?"

Jonathan was on the verge of panic. But what the other man said was true, he did do best when following orders. Coming up with his own thoughts wasn't his strong suit. But he didn't even know this man...Of course, what choice did he have? What would his mother say? This was starting to sound downright criminal, and he wasn't a criminal, was he?

But those damn, meddling children. Damn them! Damn to hell. Yes! He would help destroy them! Yes! He would see them crawl. They had taken his whole world away. Damn them!

"Yes. I'll help you, Mr. Warden. It would be my pleasure."

"The name's Snyder. Augustus Snyder." The warden held out his hand to shake, that same strange smile on his face. Jonathan shook his hand, limply.

"Jonathan Pembermuffin. Pleased to make your acquaintance."


End file.
